A Break in the Fog
Acrylic on reclaimed cardboard shipping box. Double-wall corrugated fiberboard (originally used to package a brand new bike)
32 1/2” x 36 1/2” | $6500
I spent years trying to tone it down. I thought if I just painted over it—layered on the calm, the cool, the seafoam grey—I could keep things contained.
But red doesn’t stay quiet.
It crept back in slowly at first, then all at once—fierce, alive, impossible to ignore. I kept painting anyway, trying to smooth it out. And then one day, my brush caught something rough.
A hole.
Right in the fog. Just enough to let the heat through. I almost covered it.
But I didn’t.
This piece is about that moment. When the thing you tried to bury finds its way back into the light. When you stop apologizing for the fire—and finally let it speak.
Acrylic on reclaimed cardboard shipping box. Double-wall corrugated fiberboard (originally used to package a brand new bike)
32 1/2” x 36 1/2” | $6500
I spent years trying to tone it down. I thought if I just painted over it—layered on the calm, the cool, the seafoam grey—I could keep things contained.
But red doesn’t stay quiet.
It crept back in slowly at first, then all at once—fierce, alive, impossible to ignore. I kept painting anyway, trying to smooth it out. And then one day, my brush caught something rough.
A hole.
Right in the fog. Just enough to let the heat through. I almost covered it.
But I didn’t.
This piece is about that moment. When the thing you tried to bury finds its way back into the light. When you stop apologizing for the fire—and finally let it speak.
Acrylic on reclaimed cardboard shipping box. Double-wall corrugated fiberboard (originally used to package a brand new bike)
32 1/2” x 36 1/2” | $6500
I spent years trying to tone it down. I thought if I just painted over it—layered on the calm, the cool, the seafoam grey—I could keep things contained.
But red doesn’t stay quiet.
It crept back in slowly at first, then all at once—fierce, alive, impossible to ignore. I kept painting anyway, trying to smooth it out. And then one day, my brush caught something rough.
A hole.
Right in the fog. Just enough to let the heat through. I almost covered it.
But I didn’t.
This piece is about that moment. When the thing you tried to bury finds its way back into the light. When you stop apologizing for the fire—and finally let it speak.